


Little Rabbit

by CalsLaundry



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Choking, Death Threats, Fear, Implied Stalking, Knife Play, Murder, Questionable Consent, blood mention, death mention, dubcon, predator prey vibes, threats to reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23718781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalsLaundry/pseuds/CalsLaundry
Summary: -You gasp at the sensation and try to jolt away, but your hands meet the wall ahead of you, and he is quick to follow. His hands, clad in black leather gloves, are beside yours, massive by comparison. His chest is against your back, that heat is strong, he’s so warm.“Let’s be sure you don’t go anywhere, little rabbit,”-You've wandered away from the nightlife and find yourself prey to a strange man.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Reader
Comments: 186
Kudos: 459





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I guess I just up and disappeared there for a month and then showed up with no warning of new work. Surprise!
> 
> As usual with Al, this is on the dark side. Be cautious and please read the tags.

The night is young.

Vibrant jazz wafts through the air from a hundred places, and it all collides and swirls into the feeling of New Orleans on such a fine evening. There’s a spark in the air here, one unlike any other you’ve felt. When the sun dips in New Orleans, when the light leaves it to shadows to rule the streets, a whole new world appears. Darkness ushers in a new crowd, a new energy, the energy that the would be cacophony of horn and rhythm has moulded to, the one that flashes fireworks behind your eyelids. Tonight, that energy is in your blood, you feel it spark through your veins in every heartbeat. You look your best, you feel your best, you’re single, and life is bright. The fear that draped the city when blood spilled was lost on you. The city only mourned when the sun was up. By nightfall, the city danced for the dead and celebrated in the ways they couldn’t. 

_Fear was useless_ , you’d told someone. _When death comes, he shouldn’t be met with a shuddering breath and pleading for one’s life. He should be met like an old friend, like the first breath in the morning, like the raindrops in Summer. He is, afterall, inevitable._

But tonight, behind the pulse of the music, something makes the hair on the back of your neck stand. You twist down streets, destination forgotten, with only fight or flight in mind. You glance over your shoulder as discreetly as you can, the lead in your stomach warning you not to let on you’ve seen. Though, as of yet, you haven’t seen anything.

You round another corner with a quick look back. Nothing.

You laugh out of pure relief. It’s comforting.

But the tinkle of jazz is far off in the distance. And none of the buildings here are familiar. 

New dread fills you. 

But surely the sound will lead you back home.

You set off with a confident stride.

Until ahead, someone rounds the corner and your stomach drops and your feet stop.

“Lost?”

The voice is almost mocking. 

“N-no, just took a wrong turn. I know my way.”

They walk closer and their shadow stretches menacingly in the light of the streetlamp.

You take a step back.

“Are you sure? Such a strange turn for someone dressed to be in the nightlife.”

“Yes,” another step back, “and there are people waiting for my return”.

It’s a lie. You’d told them you might not be back. 

“Then surely you’ll accept the help of a kind stranger to get back to them,” there’s a small chuckle in the voice, “in one piece”. 

The stranger extends a hand, but instead of taking it, you take another step back. 

“Perhaps the help of a kind stranger is lost on me.”

“Why ever would that be, my dear?”

“Because the kindest thing you can do for me is let me go,” the words squeak from you by the end. 

“By all means. I never said you were trapped here, my dear,” there’s a sincerity in his voice but you can hear the bite of his real feelings. But if it means you can leave....

“But, do be careful,” he continues, “the night isn’t kind to a morsel like you”.

_ Morsel _ .

A feeling creeps up your back. Like the devil himself is running a finger up your spine.    
He turns back the way he came, and with his hands behind his back, he walks off, humming a tune to himself. You walk, quick and quiet as you can, but when you look down the alley, he’s long gone. You walk faster, towards the music, where you know the world would see if he returned. Another twist, this alley is darker but you know this street.

...don’t you?

You walk, a glance over your shoulder, but the light fades, and you slow your pace only a couple of feet from the wall.

A dead end.

Terror steals your breath. You don’t want to turn around for fear of what could be there.

“Didn’t I tell you the night isn’t kind?”

You don’t turn to his voice, you stay still.

“The night plays tricks, my dear, and the streets are its partner in crime. Had you only listened, you could have met your fate with an ounce of dignity. But instead you’re going to die crying in an alleyway,” he tsks, “quite unbecoming for you. I hoped you’d treat death as a friend, but instead, you treat death as if you never really believed in the inevitable.”

Sense leaves you, thought leaves you, you stand still though you hear his steps get closer. Your body freezes, he hums that same tune, one you recognise from bars. You mouth the words silently, he stops behind you, close enough you can feel the heat from him.

The humming stops.

“Not even a little fight from you?” 

You remain still. This is as close to accepting death as you can be, you think. 

He tsks again.

“A shame,” his breath tickles your ear and he whispers against your lobe, “and you were my favourite prey”.

You gasp at the sensation and try to jolt away, but your hands meet the wall ahead of you, and he is quick to follow. His hands, clad in black leather gloves, are beside yours, massive by comparison. His chest is against your back, that heat is strong, he’s so warm. 

“Let’s be sure you don’t go anywhere, little rabbit,” he wraps an arm around your middle, your hands stay on the wall. You rush through your thoughts as his hand disappears from beside yours, and a clink meets your ears. This could be your only time to…

“Don’t think about it,” the moonlight is impossibly bright when it hits the steel, but you know there’s no escape now.    
But your body moves freely of you, you push against the wall, kick, squirm, and fling your head back, all in an effort to get away, but he forces his weight against your back, until your cheek hits the wall and you whimper. You struggle again, but he merely laughs.

“A valiant effort,” the tip of the knife trails up your arm, and the hand around your middle moves up at the same pace, his lips press to your ear and he whispers “but you’re not going anywhere I don’t want you to”.

Tears stream down your cheeks, you try to stifle the sobs, but you can’t. His nose presses into your hair and he inhales. He speaks with a shuddering exhale.

“You smell  _ delicious _ , my dear,” the tip of his gloved index finger rests against the hollow of your throat, you whimper again, and he shushes you.

“Come now, you don’t want to face death crying, do you?”

You gasp in some feeble attempt to stop crying, but your body refuses.

“Hush, little rabbit”, his finger moves and his hand covers your throat lightly, “or I’ll make you.” 

The tears start anew and his hand grips your throat harder than you expected.

But the noise you make is equally unexpected.

It hurt, just a little, but the feeling of his hand on your throat sends a thrill through you.

He loosens his grip slightly, a test, and grips you again, it’s different but better, and another moan sneaks over your lips.

“Well, well, well, little rabbit, isn’t that something…” his lips are against your ear again, the fear is still there, but it’s mingled with something else, and your sigh at the tickle in your body, “I so liked you when you were afraid”.

You want to tell him you still are.

You feel the wince as he realises something, you hear the smile grow on his face, and he leans in again, teeth nipping at your ear gently before he whispers again;

“Perhaps we can both have our way tonight”.

The hand on your throat falls down your body to your middle again, for a moment, you’re disappointed.

But the knife presses to you gently, a reminder, one that ignites something but reminds you that you’re dealing with a monster. 

“Perhaps, little rabbit,” the blade trails over your shoulder and the tip teases your neck with cold kisses, “you’ll run free. Or not. We’ll see where the mood takes us, hmm?” 

The knife trails again, until it’s cold against your windpipe. You freeze completely, but in your lack of awareness, you forget his other hand, until there’s pressure between your legs. 

“Do try to stay still,” he chuckles against your ear again, “though I don’t doubt it’s a more pleasant way to go”.

The pressure leaves you, but he fumbles until his gloves tease the skin of your thighs. One finger teases against you and you whine. 

“Shh, you wouldn’t want anyone to hear you in such a state, would you?” You can hear his smile.

His fingers move against you with more pressure in soft circles. You lay your head back on his shoulder, the knife is still against you, but in your peripheral, you see his smile and a hint of glasses. From here, you can’t make out his face, but you know he’s watching everything he’s doing to you. He moves the knife slightly, another reminder. The way his fingers rub against you, it’s impossible to focus on both. He’s silent, and you are silent when his fingers leave you. He presses them to his lips to taste you, and you swear there’s a hum in his throat as he does. 

“Maybe you’ll live, little rabbit,” his fingers are against you again, this time, more frantic. 

“Maybe I’ll leave you unsatisfied, bring you to the brink of euphoria, and stop,” his teeth nip at your earlobe again, harder now, “perhaps I won’t let you get close, maybe I’ll slit your throat before you get there, hmm?” 

Icy tendrils of fear grip you but it only makes everything better.

“Or maybe,” his lips move down to your neck, he licks and suckles and bites at the flesh there, tasting your fear and how the sun had treated you, “maybe you’ll get there, reach that glorious climax you want  _ so badly _ ,” he groans out the last two words, and you nod, though the knife makes you squeak.

“Or maybe,” he stands his full height and leans forward, against your back so you’re forced forward with him, and the knife presses into your neck and you cry and you think this is how he’ll kill you, but the knife moves forward too. Your cheek is against the wall, his fingers are still swirling circles, ever more enticing and better with every breath, the knife presses harder than it has but not enough to draw blood, not yet. His hips twitch behind you and you hear him lick his lips before he speaks again.

“Maybe I’ll get you there, let you reach your end and slit your throat as you moan for me, God, wouldn’t that be a sight,” your thighs squeeze together, you’re almost there now, you bite your lip in an effort to keep quiet.

“Don’t hide your noises, little rabbit, I want to hear every note when you sing for me,” his pace changes and you let out a moan.

“I can feel how close you are, I can hear it, a beautiful little thing, it would be a shame to rid the world of you,” warmth blossoms in your chest, he is sweet when he wants to be, “but to spread your beauty across these walls would be just as lovely”.

You moan again and your hips buck into his hand, you’re so close, you beg him silently to keep talking. 

“There it is, you’re right there, aren’t you? What a sound it would be to hear you gurgle your last moan, to feel you go utterly limp even as the pleasure goes through you, oh what it would be to hear my name spill out with the blood, darling”, he groans through gritted teeth and that does it; your thighs squeeze and you moan as if it’s the last echo of you in the world. 

As the pleasure eases, you hear your breath still coming, panting harshly in time with the man behind you. The knife is still at your neck, and you pray he’s too dramatic to kill you now. Though in the climax of things, you fear it bit into your neck harshly enough to break the skin.

It leaves you, and you’re too cautious to think your prayer was answered. 

“It would be a waste to kill you now that I’ve missed the perfect moment,” he presses a kiss to your cheek, “perhaps another time, my little rabbit. Until then,” he brings his fingers across your neck-seems you were right about the knife- and brings them to his lips again. He licks them clean with a satisfied moan and stands back at his full height, his warmth leaving you with him.

“Remember, my dear, the night isn’t kind. But I’ll be sure to find you again to prove what kindness it has.” 

He’s gone in a breath, silent as a ghost, and you wonder for a moment if it was even real.

A touch of your neck and the stain of blood on your fingertips is enough proof.

You wander home, begging the night to be a little more accommodating.

*

A week passes and the buzz of nightlife has you enraptured once more. You stay to well lit streets, surrounded by familiar faces, and the hum of the city thrums through you again.    
The fear that draped the city when blood spilled is no longer lost on you.

Your tryst with a stranger remained your secret. But here at the bar, the memories haunt you and send a delighted shiver through you.

“Ah there you are!” A familiar voice as a man places a drink in front of you.

“Thank you, Robert, to your health,” you clink glasses with him as you take a sip, and he nods as he takes one too. 

“There’s someone here I want to introduce you to, a radio man, he’s gonna be big I tell ya,” Robert waves someone over.    
“This is the one I was tellin’ ya ‘bout, Al,” you hold out your hand to shake his, wondering why this stranger is so familiar. You’ve never seen eyes so green, but there’s something about that smile.

“Alastor, this is my ‘pprentice-” the rest of the sentence, the noise of the room, everything fades. Your hand is taken in his gloved one. You stare, mouth open just a little. Robert disappears from view, and this stranger, Alastor, leans down to you, his smile wide and his grip firm. 

“So wonderful to meet you again, little rabbit”.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you for such a positive response on chapter 1!   
> I've chosen for now to leave the chapter numbers open, the outpouring of love from everyone and the support and enthusiasm has helped me find my love for writing again and I cannot thank you guys enough. I hope y'all like the new chapter!

Weeks have passed since your encounter with Alastor. You’d avoided that part of town, you didn't stray from friends, and you haven’t wandered the streets in the ghostly hours.   
But still, he is everywhere.   
He haunts you in a way that chills your bones but excites you when you’re alone.    
It’s a war with yourself, one you will never understand.  But you don’t want to be alone with him. What was only a threat before could become something all too real. Everywhere you found yourself, he was too. His eyes on you at every turn, through every crowd. Your mind felt wild, your thoughts were scattered, dandelions in the membrane that couldn’t regroup and got stuck in dark corners. 

Tonight, you realise just how scattered.

You make your way home, eyes staring into some unknowable distance, lost in a daydream of peace and rest, something you hadn’t known in some time. Not since…  
Not since you were last here. You click back to reality and your heart thrums in your chest as you recognise the alley where you were cornered those weeks ago. You don’t know if it’s excitement or fear in your belly, but you’re lost to the world, sucked back in to the memory of that night.

“I didn’t expect you to be so wistfully reminiscent of our tryst, little rabbit,”

Alastor’s voice dribbles ice down your spine, but he only laughs in response.

“Hush, sweet thing, I am not here for a reenactment. Though,” his eyes darken and he smiles too wide, “I am not opposed to such a thing if you wish.”

You shake your head but he holds out a hand all the same.  You stare, and his laugh echoes from the walls.

“It is manners, my dear. You are not prey tonight, I will simply take you home.”

You can’t leave the alley without him seeing.  You don’t really have a choice.  You take his hand and he kisses your knuckles too softly, and he puts your hand around his elbow. A gentleman.

If the history is ignored.

You walk in silence, Alastor hums some mysterious song to himself, and the moon mocks you as it hides behind the clouds, leaving you in darkness with the Devil himself.

“My dear, you’re awfully quiet.”

You nod, you know he sees. 

“I do keep my promises. Tonight is not your night. I won’t say it won’t be someone else’s night, but it certainly isn’t yours. You’ll sleep soundly, I swear.”

You settle a little. It’s not all that comforting to know he’ll find another victim, but you’re glad not to be it. Though there’s something else in you; a small tinge at the thought of another victim. Another victim in the way you were. 

Your door comes into view, and you decide not to question how he knew where to go. His eyes flick to you, but he makes no move to let go of you, not until you’re at the door.  He turns to face you, but in the same breath as he frees your hand, he holds your chin. He tilts your head up, and panic spreads through you, but he sets your chin back to normal, all gently. 

“You’ve only the smallest scar as proof of our last encounter,” he chuckles, but the wind changes, and his expression does too. He leans in close, close enough that you can feel his breath on your lips, close enough that your stomach flips and your tongue peeks out in case your own lips are too dry and your breath dies in your throat.

“You smell  _ divine _ ,” his eyes meet yours and your heart skips. He leans back, his smile more forced and a glint in his eyes. He clears his throat, and it’s like nothing happened.

“Be sure to lock up, little rabbit. I have made my promise, but if you leave something so delicious behind unlocked doors, I can’t swear I won’t have a taste.”

With another quick kiss to your knuckles, he’s gone, though he turns again at the gates. 

“Inside, my dear. Remember the night is not kind.”

You nod.

“Thank you for the walk home. Goodnight, Alastor,” you slip inside but his soft humming follows, a lullaby as you turn the key and wonder if it would be so bad to leave it unlocked for him.

*

The night isn’t kind.  
It certainly isn’t kind in this bar.   
A man, Trevor you think his name is, is standing too close. He touches your arm, tries to hold your hand, leans in too close. He whispers something, something you don’t hear, right against your ear, and you shudder in disgust. You press a hand to his chest and smile politely as you push him back a little.

“Personal space,” you laugh a little, and he does too. But his hand plants against the wall behind you and his only gets closer. 

“You won’t be all that concerned about the space between us, my dear,” the words are slimy on his tongue.

You glance around, anything to get away from this.  Trevor’s free hand settles on your hip and that’s the last straw. 

“‘Scuse me,” you blurt out, and you leave too quickly for him to stop. You stride towards the only face you know. The one who just arrived. The one you shouldn’t trust.

“Ah, hello there, little rabbit, you look lovely as always, even if a little caught in the headlights,” he chuckles, but it dies on his lips when you don’t react. 

“Can I stay near you for the night?” 

“Of course,” he extends an arm and you settle against his side, “what ever is the matter?”

You shake your head, but Alastor is no fool. He gives a look around the room and with that glance, you know he knows. He squeezes your shoulders, though it might not wholly be in reassurance. He leans down, lips brushing the same spot on your lobe that Trevor’s had. The spot feels cleansed at Alastor’s touch, but his words inspire that old fear of him, that old fear that mixes with some other feeling in you; “No one plays with prey”.

The words make you shiver, but he pulls you against him. His hate filled eyes are trained on Trevor’s every move. You wonder if you’ve sent him to the gallows by involving Alastor. You struggle to feel bad for it.

*

The night comes to a close and you’re still at Alastor’s side. With one look, you know you’re going where he goes, and you don’t ask questions. 

“Do you trust me, my dear?” 

You glance at him. His face is calm, the ghost of a smile, but this one is new. It’s predatory. 

You don’t know why you say “yes”.

“When we get to your home, I will leave you at your door but I’ll come to the back door shortly after.”

“Okay.”

You see his appreciation for your lack of questions, but truth be told, you didn’t want to be alone. Trevor may not have pushed as far as he could have, but the worry in the back of your mind forbid you from being alone tonight.   
Just as he said, at your door, Alastor kisses your knuckles and walks away humming once you’re inside. You lock the front door, and you wait. You close the curtains and busy yourself with small chores until you hear a small rap at the back door. Alastor steps in, that same predatory look still painting his expressions.

“My dear, I don’t mean to alarm you, but I am certain the man who upset you earlier followed us to your home,” panic rises in your gut immediately, but Alastor holds your chin, “I will not let anything happen to you.”

You know it’s more about his possessiveness than him wanting you safe. But it settles you.

“Thank you.”

“No matter what happens, you will be safe from everyone else with me here, little rabbit. Remember that.”

There’s another knock. The front door this time. Alastor nods at you and stands behind it. He nods again;  _ open it _ .  With a deep breath, you obey and peek around the door.

“Trevor, hi, can I-”

He pushes against you and the door slams behind him. You fall backwards, barely keeping your balance at the force. 

“You think you’ll get away with teasin’, you filthy little-” 

“Ah ah ah,” Alastor chastises, “is that any way to treat the host of a home?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“It makes no difference, you’re not going to live to tell anyone my name.”

“Oh yeah? What’s a daisy like you gonna do, huh?”

Alastor is silent, and somehow, when he’s silent, he’s more terrifying than ever. You blame the adrenaline for how your body reacts to him. 

“Tell me, what were you planning on doing with my little rabbit?”

“‘Little rabbit’? This one right here?” Trevor gestures at you.

“Who else.” Alastor is losing patience.

“I’m here to get what I’m owed, it was all sweet until you came in,”

“Hmm, I wonder why,” Alastor’s voice is dry.

“It’s nothin’ to do with you, your ‘little rabbit’ is gonna be-”

Alastor is against him in a step, knife produced from nowhere and pressed to his neck.

“I dare you to finish that sentence.”

“Fuck, man! Why the fuck do ya have a knife, get off of me, I-” 

Trevor is on his knees after a swift kick from Alastor, and still, you’re frozen.

“Darling rabbit,” Alastor beckons you closer with the knife, his other hand holding Trevor in place with a fistful of hair.

You step up beside him, and when he traces the tip of the knife across the scar he left, you don’t flinch and he smiles. 

“Hmm, less of a rabbit now that you’ve grown brave…” Alastor looks over you with another new look, something more than excitement. You know he doesn’t mean it, but it’s a sweet thought.

“Perhaps you’d like a cut of this meat, hmm? Have you ever used a knife on a man, little rabbit?” 

You shake your head.

“Would you like to?”

Your eyes flick to Trevor. He’s shaking, pale, and you imagine what it might be like to take Alastor’s offer.

But you’re not sure you can.

You shake your head. 

“No, thank you,” Trevor lets out a breath and weeps.

“Thank you, oh my God, thank you, I swear-”

This time you cut him off.

“I didn’t say Alastor couldn’t do it in my place,” Alastor glances at you, clear excitement in his eyes. 

“I’ll make sure there’s no mess, my darling,” his voice is soft, like he’s offering you a massage, and you don’t know why, but it all feels right. You want to reach out and touch his cheek, your mind goes as far as to picture kissing him(for luck, maybe). But instead, you smile, a sign for him to go ahead with whatever he has planned, and with a comb of his hand through your hair, he disappears from view, dragging Trevor with him.

You hear everything. You don’t know how Alastor can ensure no mess, but you trust him.

A while passes before you hear Alastor’s footsteps. He comes into your view, blood covered and dazed, as if he’d drank too much. 

“He shouldn’t be cause for concern anymore, my dear.” 

The words come through a haze.

There’s something different in seeing him like this.

His white shirt is splattered with blood, his gloves too, flecks dot his glasses and his cheeks, and there’s a streak across his nose.  His knife is still in his hand.

If you touch him, it’ll be on you too.  But you cross the room anyway and stop just shy of him.

“I can’t thank you enough, Alastor, how can I repay you?” 

“By telling me something.”

“Anything.”

“That man pinned you to a wall and spoke to you in no doubt the most disgusting way. Did you enjoy it?” 

“Not for a second,” was this jealousy again?

“Did you enjoy his voice? His face? The way he looked at you?” 

“Not at all, Alastor,” the words are a whisper.

“Why did your thighs squeeze together when he was here? When you knew he would see? When he looked at you at the bar? When you knew he was outside the door?” 

He steps closer until you’re nose to nose, his temper is obvious, but you don’t back down for a second. The jealousy is misplaced, but it endears you to know it’s even there. 

“Because of you.” 

He stops.

Moments pass and he can only stare down at you.

“Because of me…” he breaks the silence with a whispered echo of your words.

You nod, still silent.

“Forgive me, my little rabbit,” his hands are on you, shoving clothes out of the way until your legs are bare before him, and he wastes no time in pressing a gloved hand between them. You’re soaked, you know it, and he hears it.

“This is because of me?” his face is too close to yours. You nod.

“I won’t...indulge just yet,” he pulls his hand away, and you see your own juices mixed with Trevor’s blood, “but I won’t leave without ensuring you are...satisfied”.

He pushes your shoulder until your back is against the wall and he drops to his knees. His tongue pokes at your folds curiously, lazing through, stroking your most sensitive parts. He groans at the taste, but his tongue swirls and flicks and teases until you moan softly. Your hand cautiously combs through his hair and he chuckles against you before you feel his words as you hear them; “brave little rabbit”.

He stands his full height, and with his eyes on yours, licks one finger of his glove, one of the few with your juices and Trevor’s blood. 

“Like ambrosia, would you like a taste?” 

You shake your head.

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you?” 

He puts the hand to his face again but this time, smears the mixture across his lips. 

“Even now, little rabbit?”

You wonder briefly if it’s a trap, but he leans in before you can.

“I’ve had my spill of blood for the night, my dear, it’s no trap or trick. I only want you to know how sweet you taste.”

You find yourself nodding, and his lips meet yours, first in a chaste kiss, but you wrap your arms around his shoulders and the mood shifts. Your own hunger is exposed and he presses against you, that bloodied hand on the back of your neck.  In his other, the knife presses against your thigh. It leaves as soon as you notice, but something presses to your entrance.

“I cannot indulge, but it would be so cruel to leave you empty, my dear,” the handle of the knife slips inside you and you gasp.

“How wonderful it is to see your face this time,” he pulls it out slowly and thrusts in again, “I hated having to wonder for so long how you might look with blood on your lips while I give you what you want”.

Another thrust.

“That said,” 

Another, 

“It was worth the wait”.

He captures your lips again and his thrusts find a rhythm. You gasp against him, nip at his lips, rake your nails into his shirt, and his pace doesn’t falter.  His lips leave yours but he presses his forehead against yours instead. The hand at the back of your neck slides over your skin, still warm, until it rests at the side of your neck, and his thumb plays on your lips.

“I hope it excites you as much as it excites me, my dear,” he leans into your neck and leaves a soft kiss followed by a harsh bite that makes you whimper, you spread your legs and find your thigh between his legs, “this knife has done more in the last hour than any I’ve held,” he laughs but grunts as his crotch presses to your thigh. He stills for a moment, but presses his hips to you again. You pull your arms from his neck and with a cautionary glance, you hold his hips.   
The angle is awkward, but you pull his hips until they roll against your thigh again. The knife has stilled too, and you can’t help but roll your own hips to feel it again. He leans back for a moment to watch you fuck yourself on it. You see the radio static in his brain at the sight, and it fills you with such power and confidence.   
Until you push down just a little too far and his thumb rubs against your favourite spot. Your soft squeal brings him back and he thrusts with it again. With each movement, his hips move too, until they’re in sync. Your nails dig into him, and you steal a kiss and then another-just one more, you keep saying-until his tongue dips into your mouth and wrestles with yours.   
It’s less of a kiss and more of a dominant play for him, but your whole body tingles as the drool seeps from the corner of your mouth and your hips match his rhythm and your whole body tightens. His tongue leaves your mouth but his cheek rests on your shoulder, you feel his panting breath and you know he’s just as close as you are. Without warning, a wave of pleasure sweeps through you and you call out his name and dig your nails into him until you’re sure you’ve left marks. He’s right there with you; the knife moves through your orgasm and only still when his hips do. You swear you hear the soft moan of your name.

Outside the soft chirp of birds makes you realise the night has slipped away.  
Alastor stands, panting still, and watches the knife as the handle slips out of you. You let out a small moan as it does, and then lean against the wall, trying to find your breath.  He straightens himself up and clears his throat, but you see him glance at the door. You speak before you can think.

“Please stay."

He looks at you, surprised but amused.

“You’re insatiable, little rabbit,” he laughs and you groan at him.

“Well, it would look questionable if you left at 5am covered in blood. Stay. I can get those cleaned up after we rest. It’s the least I could do”.

He agrees, and you settle into bed with him behind you, backs to each other. Slumber steals you quickly, but you feel him turn and he speaks against the notch at the top of your spine,

“Little rabbit?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Why did you come to me for protection?”

You ponder for a moment.

“Better the Devil you know.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my work! For updates, giveaway info, and general thought process, join me!  
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/CalsLaundry  
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> Pillowfort: https://www.pillowfort.io/CalsLaundry


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless my lovely pal @Alastors_bambi for doing betaing this chapter for me!   
> And bless everyone who has been so positive and encouraging in the comments, I'm so grateful!  
> Anyway, on to the spice!

_ Snap. _

That one isn’t from your step.

He’s almost here.

You take off again, weaving between trees as well as you can and trying desperately to keep your footing.

You’re sure you can hear his breathing-harsh and gasping.

_ Snap. _

No, no, no, he can’t be that close already.

“Fuck!” you hiss out, and take a sharp turn, following a scratch on the tree ahead.

The trees get thicker and the space between them gets smaller. The darkness in that space swallows every ray of light. This might be harder than you expected.   
You take another turn, into the darkness, and there’s another snap underfoot. The noise behind you stops dead.

_ He’s listening. _

You step again; another snap.

He definitely heard that one. No time now. You break into a run and you hear him follow. 

He’s taller, he’ll catch you in no time, you can’t quiet your breathing, it’s too loud, your lungs burn, your footfall is louder, there’s a tree coming up, a massive one, thick as a building, you circle around it to where the bushes meet the thickest of its roots. You cower between them, and hold a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing. 

A hand comes down on your shoulder and you squeal in fright, you squirm away, you flail and kick and twist, his grip comes down tight on your ankles. 

You scream, but there’s movement behind you, you look up, and standing over you, upside down in this view, you see your saviour. His green eyes glint in the moonlight, his foot shoves against your attacker’s shoulder, and he follows the motion by stepping over you. You scoot back and you watch Alastor pin the attacker to the ground. His knife glints with the sliver of moonlight that sneaks through the trees. You look away, but you can’t look away from his shadow. The tree branches obscure his true shape, twisting him into some kind of demonic stag, and with every thrust, your thighs squeeze together.

_ It’s the adrenaline. _

Or the chase.

No matter how planned that chase had been, something in you loved it. You knew who it was the whole time, but a little section of your imagination pictured Alastor. You hate admitting it. 

And you hate that right now, you want him to chase you.

Whatever noise his new victim had made is long gone. Alastor stands his full height, the blood on his face glitters in the moonlight, and when he holds out a hand to help you up, you’re marked with that man’s life. 

“You played your part perfectly, little rabbit,” he kisses your knuckles, and you’re grateful to the darkness for hiding your blush.

“Perhaps I should have called you a 'little deer' with how well you navigate these woods, it must have been such a thrill to be the one to chase you,” he leans in close, close enough that the blood on his nose has made a small spot on yours. Your breath catches.

“Maybe you’d give me a chance to chase you, just a little, my dear?” 

You pretend to think it over, but you already know your answer.

“Okay. But you need to...go over there and count to ten with your eyes closed,” You bite back a smile.

“Are we playing  _ Hide and Seek,  _ little rabbit?” 

“Not quite, more like...tag, but I need a head start!” 

“And why is that?” A smirk plays on his lips.

“To make the chase a little better. Unless,” you chew your lip,  _ is it too cheeky to say? _

“Unless?” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Unless you don’t think you can catch me if I get a head start…” 

His smile twitches, and a predatory look sneaks into his features; if his shadow was a demon before, it had sunk into his veins.

He turns.

“Run, little rabbit.” 

He starts to count.

You run.

Faster than you had from the corpse that lays at Alastor’s feet. Faster than you thought you could. You try to count with him, but you lose track. You focus on your footing, you consider hiding for a moment to find your breath, but the moment the thought crosses your mind, an arm hooks around your waist, and your back slams against the nearest tree trunk. You’re winded for a second, but Alastor’s arms cage you against it.

That stir in you returns, undeniably from the chase. You stare at him, taking in his features again, noticing how close his nose is to yours again, feeling the adrenaline and lust again.

You lean in too close to him, you can feel his breath tickle your lips, maybe even the barest touch of his to yours. You lick your bottom lip -certain now that you got the smallest taste- and look into his eyes.

“Chase me again.”

You duck under his arm and run. He’s much closer behind you this time, you hear each stride, his breath, everything.

You twist around trees, under branches, into bushes, through reams of undergrowth you could never find your way through again. In the distance, you see a small lake. The thought crosses your mind that it could be a way to see how close he is.

You follow that instinct. The shore is covered in pebbles, much harder to run on but adrenaline drives you. You glance behind you as Alastor emerges from the trees, and he sweeps a look around until he spots you.

The only path away from the lake is directly across from him.

You watch his eyes flicker to it and back to you before he runs towards it, away from you, but if he makes the path, he’ll be there before you. He’s certain he’s ahead of you, certain he knows your plan.

You wish you could see his face when you make a sharp turn into the woods, and you’re cloaked in darkness. 

You slow your stride. Surely, he’s been slowed by his detour. You catch your breath, but remain as aware as you can.

The night isn’t kind, and Alastor might not be the scariest thing in the woods.

You keep your steps light.

In that moment, you understand animal instinct better than ever before.

You know something is watching you; you feel it crawl through the top of your spine and spread over your shoulder blades, and with it comes a cold wave of gooseflesh. 

You run.

You pull yourself forward with smaller trees, the feeling doesn’t go away, you try to shake it off, and for a brief moment, you wonder if you are in real danger. If Alastor catching you means the end. Fear sends ice through your veins, right down to your toes, but that fear ignites your belly and sends excitement through you. 

You hear him behind you.

You turn, sharp and with any luck, unexpectedly.

But Alastor…

Alastor is always one step ahead.

Before your body makes that full turn, his hand is on your arm, he yanks until your back hits the ground, but this time, before you can kick away, he straddles your legs and your wrists are pinned to the ground. 

Your chest heaves, and a laugh bubbles from your throat.

He leans in close, chuckling as he does, and whispers; “Now, what is my prize, little rabbit?” 

You stare for a moment. With a wiggle of your hand, he allows one hand its freedom. Nerves threaten to stop you, but you trace your fingers over his cheek, light as a butterfly. You trail them over his neck until your hand cups the back of his head and you pull him to you.

The first kiss is light- a proposal, more than anything.

The second is less chaste- an agreement.

The third and every one after mingle into a heated mess. 

Desperation, excitement, lust; you’ve craved this since the last time, since the moment in your own home. He pulls your wrist again until it’s pinned above your head with the other. He holds the two in one hand-a reminder, you’re sure, that he’s bigger and stronger than you- and his now free hand explores you with familiarity. He grips, squeezes, strokes everywhere that makes you moan and squeal, everywhere that makes you beg him for more.

Perhaps this time, he would indulge.

A snap, somewhere to your left shatters the moment.

You separate, both on high alert.

He stands and holds a hand out to help you; the possibility of indulgence is lost.

“Come, little rabbit. Let’s get you home.”

*

The moment on the forest floor replays in your mind over and over.

Alastor delivered you to your door with only a kiss to your knuckles and the wish of a “good night”. Every fiber of you had wished for a little more than that. Or a lot more.

It had been a few hours. You fell in and out of sleep. You want to blame the sticky heat that had you sleeping nude, but you know better. The sun peeks over the horizon and paints the sky peach with streaks of red. It seems the entire world wants you to picture him, blood smeared and beautiful. 

Though the blood is just an accessory.

You reimagine the forest scene, but clean, naked, and here in this room. You roll onto your back and picture him above you, looking at you the way he did then, and begging for him the way you had wanted. Your hand slides down your bare chest and hovers between your legs for a moment.

A knock, though the barest tapping, pulls you from your daydream.  _ Who could be here at this hour?  _ Another few taps; must be important. You slip on a dressing gown and make your way to the door.

“I apologise for such an early visit, my dear, but I was in the neighbourhood.”

Alastor is on the other side, looking as unrested as you do. You step back silently and he follows you inside.

“Are you having trouble sleeping, Alastor?” 

He chuckles.

“Am I that obvious?”

“You look exhausted,” you laugh, but you hold out your hand, “come on.” 

You lead him upstairs. Sometimes the company helped you both. But now…

Now, at just the entwining of your fingers, static tingles through you. 

He only takes off his shoes and unbuttons the top button of his shirt before he gets into your bed. 

“I know it is too hot for you to wear anything to bed, my dear,” it wouldn’t be the first time he saw that either.

You slip your dressing gown from your shoulders and hang it on the back of a chair before you lay beside him. It’s more comfortable with him here, but there’s something in the air between you. You want to believe it’s the sweet, unresolved tension. Well, almost resolved. Resolved if he hadn’t come to the door.

The covers stay pushed down, idly, his fingertips play over your thigh. It’s strange; you’d seen him murder a man only a few hours ago, now that same hand teased you with such softness.

You let your head roll to the side to watch him stare at the ceiling. His brow is furrowed, and he doesn’t seem to notice when you lay your hand on his thigh.

Intimacy without danger is new.

Intimacy without a knife in his hand, without blood on his face, without wondering if any breath with him could be your last. It’s new.  It’s different.

It instills a courage in you that you’re not sure you’ve earned, that you’re not sure is appropriate.

You could swing a leg over him, get that kiss you deserved at the door. You could grind against his thigh and kiss him and plead for him.

“Don’t even think about it, little rabbit,” the hand that teased your thigh slips between your legs and merely applies pressure, but it’s enough that you gasp.

“You’re so easily startled,” his middle and ring fingers circle softly and you groan, “but do forgive me; I know I haven’t touched you without gloves before,” his fingers leave you for a moment as he rolls onto his side, propped on his elbow, and with his still clean hand now trailing over your stomach, “I do hope you still find it agreeable?” 

You nod as his fingers swirl over you again. The fingers that had been against you are in his mouth and he hums at the taste.

“Delicious as always,” he smirks, “would you care for a taste?” 

You nod though you barely hear the words, and he leans in to steal a kiss. Sure enough, you taste yourself on his lips and you can’t help the embarrassment. 

Without the blood, you wonder if it’s strange to enjoy such a thing. But his fingers crook and tease your entrance and every question in your mind evaporates. He pauses for a split second, but your hips try to press down and his fingers slip inside you and you allow yourself a sigh of relief. Alastor’s lips press to your cheek and when he speaks, it tickles;

“My darling rabbit, you’re so giving, so kind. Every moment I spend with you, I fear I’ve corrupted you in some way, though,” he chuckles, “maybe I’m not afraid of that. You’d make a fine accomplice, you’ve already shown that. But no, you’re never some corrupt thing, you’re kind and soft, and knowing that such a sweet face led a man to his demise just this night,” he lets out a shuddering breath and his fingers thrust deep and still there, “It excites me more than you could ever know.”

He kisses your cheek and his fingers move again, slower now than before, savouring each thrust.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, little rabbit, no one I wouldn’t end if it means you stay this beautiful soul, a perfectly innocent accomplice.”

He kisses your temple, and you gasp to find words. “Alastor…”

“Yes?”

“I need…” but you struggle to say it.

“Tell me, sweet thing,” another kiss to your temple, “or should I stop so you can focus?” His words have a teasing lilt to them.

“No! No, I just,” you bite your lip,  _ maybe it’s too much to ask… _

“I want you to  _ indulge _ , Alastor.”

If he’s surprised by your request, he doesn’t make it known. He kisses your temple a third time and speaks against it, “Are you sure?” 

“There isn’t a doubt in my mind.”

His fingers leave you and he kneels between your legs. With some fumbling, his shirt falls from his shoulders, and with some awk, he is naked before you.

You don’t touch him.

You know better.

But you commit every scar and freckle to memory.

He guides himself into you, his other hand propping him up, and your breath catches. It’s a different fullness from what you’ve enjoyed with him, but not necessarily a bad one. He stays still a moment and watches your reaction. You nod, but he stays still. 

“Put your arms around me, dear,” You don’t hesitate; you let your hands roam over his shoulders, hold his back, and trace every notch in his spine. His hips roll, and your fingertips grip into him. He lowers himself to rest on one elbow, and his other hand holds your hip. It’s a stark difference; one hand digging into your hip hard enough to bruise and the other toying with your hair as if it is as delicate as spiderwebs. You allow yourself a little cheekiness and press a soft kiss to his chin, his jaw, his nose, anywhere you can reach, all between moans and gasps at each motion. It’s good, it’s very good.

But something is missing. Something that made the other times...dare you say, better. 

You see the clench in his jaw and you know what he’s holding back.

With a soft kiss to his lips, your hands trail to his hips and you hold them to stop his thrusts. His expression is unreadable. You push his shoulders until his back is straight, until his hands are forced to leave the bed, and he is still and utterly perplexed. You keep your eyes on his, your back still on the bed, as you take hold of his wrists, one after the other, you place a soft kiss to the inside of each. 

“Alastor, I asked you to indulge,” you bring his wrists together in front of your neck, “I meant it.”

His hands clasp around your throat, not tight enough to cut off your air, but enough to make you shiver. His hips move again, his pace more certain and more punishing. Your hands fall beside your head and grip the pillow. The slap of skin is a filthy sound, but Alastor relishes it. One of his hands leaves your throat and he props his elbow by your head, close enough to play with your hair as he had earlier. He leans down on it, squeezing your throat just a little as he does, and presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

“I hope you aren’t regretting your demand that I indulge, little rabbit, but,” his hips snap and you gasp against his cheek, “I’ve imagined this exact moment so many times,” another snap of his hips and you moan against him, “and I must warn you, my love,” the palm of his hand stays against your throat and his fingers reach to turn your chin until your eyes meet his, “no one but me is ever going to touch you like this again.”

His grip on your throat returns, though his face stays by your neck, and his pace becomes steady and uninterrupted, that coil in your belly, the familiar one you’ve come to associate only with him, squeezes tighter and tighter with every thrust, your moans become more breathless and your hands squeeze into the pillow for dear life. 

Alastor leaves a row of sweet kisses on the curve between your neck and shoulder, they tickle and your belly flutters until his teeth dig in, harder, harder until you’re certain the skin breaks, one of your hands grasps at the hand on your neck, squeezing until your nails dig in, but your back arches in pure delight, his free hand squeezes awkwardly between your bodies until his fingertips brush that spot that sets your body on fire and you make a sound - something between a moan and a sob - as that coil snaps and pleasure rattles through you, and in the same breath, you feel a hot spurt deep inside you as Alastor moans your name against your neck and his hips finally still for good.

He breathes hard against your shoulder and his grip and yours both loosen. You let out a weak cough; you could be hiding a bruise come afternoon.

He smiles against your shoulder, and together, you awkwardly turn into something close to a cuddle. 

Nothing is going to be the same, you know that.

But you don’t regret it for a second.

Alastor pulls you close, until your cheek is against his chest and you breathe him. 

“I meant every word, little rabbit,” he kisses your hair. “You’re mine now.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING
> 
> This chapter features some DICEY STUFF  
> PROCEED WITH CAUTION

The blood dribbles over your chest, down your front, and drips on the floor.   
You frown at the mess, but attempts to wipe it from you just smears it across your clothes.   
You’ve accepted Alastor as a bit of an oddball, but the bucket of blood he kept in the shed was not what you had expected when you came out here. He probably had a reason for it, though you hope he won’t be angry that it fell on you.

You cross the small yard to the house, to your home now. Alastor’s cabin is different from your house in town, but you’ve fallen in love with the peace here. There’s no one for miles, the only sounds are nature’s, and every night is spent with Alastor by your side.   
You’ve come to appreciate Alastor’s work. You’d never seen the work that he put in, and until this morning, you’d never seen what he kept from his work. You take your time to fill the tub and strip beside it. The blood from your chin and neck drips down over your chest again, this time you admire the pattern.

“My dear, it’s wonderful to see you admire yourself as much as I do,” Alastor’s voice interrupts your moment as he kisses your shoulder. But in the process, he glances down, and you can hear the hitch in his breath,  “what did you get up to in my absence, little rabbit?” 

His fingers swipe through the streams of blood on your chest, trailing it over your skin, his hands splay over your skin and smear it further. 

“I had a small problem when I went to the shed.”

“I wouldn’t call this a problem at all,” he kisses your shoulder again and nips at the skin there.

“I was worried you’d be mad.”

“I could never be angry with a masterpiece, however accidental,” his wandering hands streak blood all over your torso, down your hips, all while he trails kisses across the back of your neck. His hand dips between your legs as the other grips your throat, no doubt marking it with a vibrant cherry hand print sweet enough to make him trail his tongue over the fingertip on your jugular.

“As gorgeous as you are covered in some strangers blood,” he interrupts himself with a long lick at the palm of the mark, “I am certain you’d look even more so marked with the blood of a victim of your own,” he pauses but you can hear the smirk tugging at his lips, “and utterly angelic marked with your own.”

You shudder at his words and your back arches against his chest.

But his touch leaves and you’re left wanting; “but I will leave you to clean yourself. Although…” he trails off, and you turn around, finally showing the full pattern of blood to him, “do you mind?”

You shrug, and he leans low, hands grasping your hips too gently, and with just the tip of his tongue, he licks from your bellybutton to the hollow of your throat. A trail is left in the blood, like the parting of the Red Sea given new meaning, and you admire the tinge of red on Alastor’s lips.

“Enjoy your bath, my dear, I will make dinner,” he casts another glance over you, “regardless of the meal I’m leaving behind me in here,” he nips at your neck again, though playfully this time. You hate that he’s not staying, but you know work has been busy and he’s no doubt tired. 

“You sure you don’t want me to make it?”

“So kind, but I can handle it, get cleaned up, my love, tonight I’m all yours.”

With that, he leaves. The promise of having Alastor at home tonight was one you’d been hoping for.  When the scent of dinner wafts in the door, you appreciate it even more.

In time, you settle at the table with him, the fire is on, the lights are low, the world around you is forgotten.  
It’s unconventional, you know that, but your home here is happy, and with Alastor beside you, the night seems kinder.

*

Secrets hide best at night, in the shadows, between the trees, and they only come out when the world is asleep.  
Nothing is as kind as it might seem, you can’t always see the rot beneath the skin.

Tonight, you can smell it.

Alastor is gone, hunting you’ll say if you’re questioned, you’re not really lying.  
But those secrets peer through the trees. Are they branches or limbs? Footsteps or rain? Nature or threat?  
The hairs on your arms stand on end. 

Something is not right.

The noises get louder.  
Fear turns your bones to ice.  
You pray it’s Alastor but he hasn’t been gone long enough. He wouldn’t be back so soon, no matter how much you pray.  
With the quietest steps you can manage, you make your way to the kitchen, the knife feels so much heavier than it should, your heart beats so loud you’re certain anyone outside could hear. It’s all  _ you _ can hear.

The handle jiggles.

You step, quick and light, and hide behind the door, when it opens, you will be hidden.  
But your heart thumps.  
You feel each second in fractions, until the handle jiggles again and the door creaks open. 

Everything happens so slowly, cotton fills your ears, you see them; the back of their head, brown hair, their profile with glasses, the axe in their hands. You move without thinking. 

The knife meets some resistance, you must have hit their spine, but your hand draws back again, and you plunge again, this time you hit ribs, the screams finally meet your ears as your attacker turns. You stagger backwards but you push yourself off of the wall, and with your whole body’s force, shove the knife into him, high on his stomach. He recoils, and you stumble back again, but you force yourself forward. He falls backwards, screaming still, and you fall to your knees, straddling him as you shove the knife into his chest this time.

You lose yourself in it; there’s a splatter with each thrust, his screams have died, his axe is forgotten, and he faces the ceiling with an eternal stare. You plunge the knife in until your arms shake with effort, until his torso is no longer some human thing.  You plunge the knife over and over, but if his body was whole and something more intact than the wretched parody of a human you’ve left before you, it wouldn’t break skin.

Eventually, you’re too exhausted to carry on, and you fall back against the wall knife in hand. Your vision glazes. 

Your face is wet; is it blood or sweat or tears?

You barely register when the door opens beside you, and Alastor stares at your victim.   
Then at you.  
But you can’t find the energy to make any move.

“...dear?”

His voice is laced with something...is it fear?

He kneels beside you, and your eyes flick to him. He lets out a small sigh.  
He stares, no, he examines you. 

“You made quite the mess, darling…” his words trail off to some faint whisper.

“I...I...I didn’t…” 

“There, there, my love,” he smooths your hair and leans forward to kiss your forehead, “forgive the distance, it’s just…” he chuckles, “I’d hate to ruin such a beautiful picture”.

He captures your lips, softly, still careful with the gore on you, and when you part, his lips are close enough for you to feel his breath.

“I killed him…” the words are a soft breath, but Alastor hears them.

“You did. If you hadn’t, it would be you on that floor and that would be a shame. Though you had me worried for a moment,” he stands and holds out his hands to help you up. You let the knife fall and take his hands to stand. He stares again at your victim then back at you. 

“My love...you’re capable of so much,” he leans his forehead against your temple and lets out a shuddering breath. He speaks in a bare whisper; “I would give anything to have witnessed this,  _ God _ , you must have been  _ wild _ .”

He kisses your cheek, gently at first then harder, then he moves down your neck, and he pairs those kisses with nips and bites until you’re pressed to him and the result of your sin coats both of you. He moves you, leads you through those kisses until your thighs meet the table and he strips you from the waist down.

“I want to see that,” he pushes your knees apart as he frees himself from his trousers, “I want to know how feral you looked, the splatter on your face,” he slips into you without warning, though that’s what it takes for you to realise how ready you were for him to be inside you, “I wish I could have seen every drop land on you, God, I want to lead that knife with you, slaughter a man together, wouldn’t it be perfect?” his pace is immediately punishing, he holds your face in one hand and his other holds your thigh.

Your back arches, your voice finally returns and you whimper as his hips slow.

“Did you make a sound or are you a silent killer?” Snap. His hips meet yours with a slap of skin. “Did you watch the life leave him?” Snap. “Did he beg you for mercy?” Snap. He groans and his pace picks up again. The hand on your thigh moves between your legs, presses to that favourite spot and toys with it as he fucks you into the table. Each noise from him distorts to a growl, he kisses your cheek, your nose, your forehead, and the blood stains his face. He casts a glance over to the man on the floor and then he presses his forehead to yours again as he pushes you closer, and your body tightens before you snap and call his name at the same moment he growls yours.

Your body aches.  
Everything has exhausted you and tears run down your cheeks without warning.

“My dear, why are you crying?”

“I-I-” you catch your breath in gasps, and try to wipe the tears away. A giggle slips out.

“I’m so tired, Al, murder is hard work.”

He laughs, a full belly laugh, and kisses your temple. 

“Indeed it is, my love, but I promise, you don’t have to lift a finger for the rest of the night.”

*

Alastor has placed you in the bath and you’ve cleaned the blood from your clothes. He said the blood would come out of your clothes, but it was easier to burn them. You hear the fireplace crackle from here. The scent of Alastor’s cooking wafts into the room too and your mouth waters. It had been a busy day.  Alastor promised he’d remove the man and you didn’t question how he would clean the mess. But he appears in the doorway, casting an eye over your naked body as he steps closer, and he’s perfectly clean.

“I hope you’re hungry, sweetheart,” he trails a finger through the water, barely brushing against your skin in the motion. 

“I am,” he helps you stand and wraps a towel around you. He dries you slowly and kisses your clean nose, but he shakes his head, more to himself than you, “I forgot your robe, my dear.”

You follow him to your shared bedroom but instead of accepting the robe he offers, you walk past him and he watches you with a curious smirk. From the closet, you pull one of his shirts and dress yourself in it, and his eyes twinkle with hunger. 

“You’ve been made bold, little rabbit,” he kisses your forehead, “perhaps you’d like to come hunting with me sometime…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my work! For updates, giveaway info, and general thought process, join me!  
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	5. Chapter 5

**Feb. 1932**

Tonight, I saw the most lovely thing.

It was like watching a doe tear through the forest and land in the city, all fright and limbs, caught in the lights and lost in the alleys. Truly perfect prey.

But that...little rabbit never became prey.

No, there was something about them, something gorgeous in their fear. Something sinfully beautiful in the way they reacted to even the smallest brush of fingertips.

Though the walls would be far more vibrant painted with my rabbit’s blood, I left it clean. For now.

For how long, I cannot say. There is only so much temptation I can resist, and already the scent of fright is enrapturing. More than any fright I’ve consumed. 

What a meal that rabbit would make.

**March 1932**

Temptation has once again teased me. If I believed in it, I would say it was fate.

I admit I’ve been wandering through my old haunts, where I first saw my rabbit and first gave chase. And I was lucky enough to find that same rabbit. 

But once again, I could not do it.

I saw the same fear, and it intoxicated me. 

It’s not simple fear of a man in those eyes; it’s fear of the devil. I must look as if I will sprout horns and cloven hooves at any moment. It’s...entertaining. 

One day, I will taste my rabbit, but for now, I wait. I cannot skip straight to dessert.

**March 1932**

I have never taken a life for anyone but myself, but tonight, I took one for my little rabbit. That vile wretch of a thing tried to force himself on what is  _ mine _ , and he paid the ultimate price. 

But best of all…

My rabbit wanted me. My rabbit wanted me there on the walk home and allowed me to be a protector, allowed me to kill. Oh and the softness in those eyes with that permission…

I feared embarrassment; My jealousy, my eagerness, my... _ humanity _ all got in my way, but my little rabbit is kind, these things were loved.

The scent on my knife handle makes my mouth water. 

To steal the life from my little rabbit and know there’s trust in those eyes would be some new thing. Some foreign dish. Maybe that’s what I’m craving. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t sink the knife in when my rabbit slept. No matter how close I was.

**April 1932**

With some convincing, my rabbit became the doe I once admired, and allowed a chase through the woods. First, by my latest victim, then by me. 

Once more, I have tasted sleep in the air of my rabbit’s room, and once more, I have held that knife against the veins I could see, but some  _ thing  _ in me stopped my hand. 

I was allowed to indulge with this one. The thought has plagued me for weeks, despite my attempts to will it away. My little rabbit is mine,  _ truly _ mine. No one will touch my rabbit again. I will make sure of it.

Sleeping with the sound of someone’s breath beside me is new. It’s unnerving sometimes to wake and feel that warmth and the soft puffs of air, but it’s not unwelcome. I might even say I like it.

I want this every night.

**June 1932**

Leaving my rabbit at home-at our home-while I go to spot some new prey has made the work more frustrating but more enjoyable. I can return to dinner, to adoration, to a look of pure  _ love _ if I’ve ever known it. My rabbit sings for me some nights, for my hands or my tongue. It’s rare that I indulge, but the itch sneaks through me some nights. It’s not for lack of wanting to more for...lack of familiarity. Such intimacy has been so rare in the past, I don’t feel quite the same urge that my rabbit does, but there is plenty time to enjoy it. 

**June 1932**

I spoke too soon. The itch returned the moment I came home, my rabbit stood by the bath, naked as a babe, dark red streams of blood coated every goosebump, and I cannot get the image out of my mind.

For a moment, I believed my rabbit had been a wolf hiding in false garb

Then I believed the life was slipping from that beautiful neck.

Both options stirred that itch, and in our bed, I am tense. The barest brush of skin, the softest noise, every tiny thing ignites my skin, and I’m left desperate. 

I don’t know whose blood it should be.

But I want to see that sight again.

**July 1932**

My rabbit is curled beside me in one of my shirts, a sight for sure, one that would reawaken that itch if we had the energy.

I became that lost deer at the sight, such a sweet rabbit, one who has never offered so much as a raised voice, reduced a man to something barely human like. It was enchanting.

I love this little rabbit with every fiber of my being.

If my work has split my soul, it is this creature that will bring it back together. Fluttering eyelids; a dream. I wonder what of? 

Tonight, I will dream of this life together. 

It is a dream that’s already come to life, one I never knew I had.

**December 1932**

I found my rabbit in the woods.

Gone.

Reduced to memories.

I brought the body home. I can’t stand to think of my lovely rabbit as...just a body now. It harbours nothing of the life that enraptured me.

Last night, I cradled my love to my chest, our eyes locked and our heartbeats tied, beating in step, as if our very existence were tied together. That perhaps we could not live without each other. 

Tonight my heartbeat will be lonely.

Tomorrow it will be lonely again.

There is nothing that could fill this silence.

* * *

That craving I once felt for my rabbit returned. 

M y beloved was as sweet in death as in life.

If I refused a bite and the world would give me back my world, I would go every day of my life without a morsel. 

Writing this has taken the last of my energy. How do I go on?

The woods are quiet. The house is quiet.

The world could end outside the window and I wouldn’t hear a sound.

  
  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I'll open with an apology for the last chapter... (:   
> The love I've been getting has been so so dear to me, I'm glad you're all enjoying this as much as I am! Thankfully, my mom has been reading it too (hi, mom!) and is so eager for new chapters that we've figured out something of a schedule for writing, and that means more frequent updates.   
> This one's a little shorter, but there's a lot to come, pinky swear.

“Wakey, wakey!” 

The words are laced with a static you’ve become far too familiar with.

“Alternatively, no…”

His laugh is much the same, crackly, though you still haven’t grown comfortable with his actual appearance.

Nothing like Vox existed when you died, and no matter how much you see him, he doesn’t seem more natural. That said, the crackle brings you solace. Vox is a permanent fixture. As permanent as you can expect after your once certain understanding of life and death.

You glance out the window at the ever dark sky-some mixture of ink and red wine, dotted with specks of blood for stars. It is...grotesque, really. But it’s a better sight than the one with which you left your life.

“Would ya rather I let Velvet in to wake ya, dollface?”

“Lord, no,” the petname prickles your skin, but it’s better than last week when he tried to call you “kitten”. Since you arrived, he’d tried a great number of names, though “dollface” has been the most used.

Vox and Velvet (and to an extent, their friend Valentino) had become good friends since you’d accidentally come by their section during a hunt through Hell. 

It was a while before you realised just how important they were, and still are.    
They’re big names, Overlords that hold more power than you ever thought possible, and they’d taken a shine to you for...some reason. One they never disclosed. 

You roll your shoulders and stretch your back until it cracks. Your form had remained much the same, still bipedal, though you’re taller than you once were, more spindly, like a twisted ballerina. Horns had sprouted from your temples and curved back like a crown, and your hands had grown to long and sharp talons.

You still see remnants of your human self, but it is like a soft pencil sketch below your demonic masterpiece. 

He chuckles that static sound again, and you glance at him.

“From this angle, you look like a little rabbit.” 

Those two words throw you back to the night you died, you feel your eyes glaze over, and you freeze up; you remember the cold ground against your back, the tree branches over you spiking through your view of the sky, the hot blood running from the corner of your mouth and along your jaw.  
The words-the last ones you heard-play loud enough in your ears that it’s like he’s here, like he’s in this room calling your name into the woods, the words could be coming from Vox and it would be just as loud.

You wonder if he ever found you.

You wonder if you’ll ever find him.

You’d let go of that dream long ago but when you consider it again, your belly stirs with the vaguest flicker of hope.

But you quench it just as fast.

“Come on, I’m sure you had some plan for the day,  _ daddy-o _ ,” you swing your legs over the side of the bed, and you catch a glimpse of a visual glitch on his cheeks as you do, but he corrects himself just as quickly.

“There are a few candy ass demons running around, ripe for dinner,” you hear them, and with a glance out, you see them. You lean on the window sill, chin in your hands with your elbows propping you up, and Vox leans over you.

“What d’ya say, doll? Ready to make a mess?”

You hear the catch of excitement in his voice, and you smile. 

This is the front for why he keeps you around. When you arrived, you’d hesitated, but violence and carnage are necessary to survive here. You came with a flare for it, reborn with the body that could have helped you fight back when you needed. 

But now…

Vox’s hand rests on your shoulder, light at first before he gives a small squeeze.

Now you can fight back. Now you can be the thing that people fear in the dark.

Now you make the night unkind.

*

The aftermath of your play smears the streets. 

Those hooligans should have known better but they never back down. 

Too late now.

You clean yourself off, and Vox interrupts as you do.

“A wonderful job, sugar,” 

You hum your thanks as you watch the blood and water swirl together into some soft sunset colour that is swallowed by the drain. 

“Surely I can treat you to dinner after such a show?”

Your stomach rumbles and you know exactly what you want.

“Is there anywhere around here that does a good jambalaya?”

Vox’s eyes glitch with a soft “brrzt” sound and he gives you a look you can’t read.

“Weird request,” 

“Not weird; I lived in New Orleans, Voxxy, and it was my favourite. I ate it more often than I bathed,”

“I hope that’s less a comment on your bath habits...”

You push his shoulder and he laughs.

“I don’t think I can get you jambalaya but I’m sure we can find a drink at least.”

*

And you do.

It’s not jambalaya(though you know you can find the ingredients, and Vox won’t object to you cooking), but dinner is welcome. 

But you know Vox, and you know when he wants something.

“So, what do you want from me, Voxxy?”

You lean back in the booth, drink in hand, and he flashes you a grin.

“That obvious?”

“Come on, I know you, out with it, TV man,” you sip your drink and he giggles at the nickname.

“I want you to...play some pranks,”

“Pranks?”

“Yes, there’s another Overlord, we don’t get along, but between you and me,” he casts a look around the bar, “I could never win a fight with him, and you certainly couldn’t. So I say we just,” shrug, “have a little fun.”

“What kind of pranks does someone pull in Hell?”

Vox shrugs again, “I’ve some ideas but I figured you’d like a little freedom, you’ve never been one for restrictions.”

“I’m sure I can think of something.”

*

You spend the next few days planning and plotting, but nothing seems quite right.

Pranks in Hell need to be more...Hellish?

But it’s when Velvet is standing in the kitchen, taking a photo of a pie that it hits you.

*

This demon Vox is after doesn’t have a set schedule, but once you spot him, you realise just how easy it’ll be to tail him. He’s taller than most demons, though shorter than Vox, and the candy apple red of him is almost too obvious. It all feels too set up. But as he rounds the corner, his too wide smile twisting to one of sheer cockiness, you slam the pie against that smile and snort with laughter as it peels off his face. You run, you know better than to stick around such a demon, and the crowd of people seems to stop him from pursuing  
Vox is already opening the door when you round the corner, the glitching static of his laughter, and the tinkle of Velvet’s upstairs, reaches your ears and you laugh just as hard when you meet his chest. He wraps an arm around you as you walk up the stairs together, gasping for breath with a smile on his face.

“Fine work! An absolute gas, I can’t believe you resorted to pie,” Vox’s sheer joy makes you smile. Velvet and Valentino are in the living room space, both admiring your work, and the TV there plays the clip over and over, no doubt Vox’s doing. 

You part with them quickly, and return to your room. It was a good prank, but fatigue hits you. You watch the same blood splatter stars and wonder what might come of this prank. 

Nothing Vox wouldn’t protect you from, you’re sure.

But his protection isn’t the same.

It’s not like Alastor’s was.

You pull the blanket over your head to drown out the sounds of the sinners.

Vox has protected you in the past, with violence and without, and it’s something you appreciate, but it’s not the same.

Alastor protected you like his own life depended on your existence. 

That pang, that breathless ache spreads through your chest, and your face scrunches.

In the time you’ve been here, years, decades, maybe closer to a century, that ache hasn’t died.

You’ve wished it would, when you met Vox, you wondered if you could convince yourself to feel it for him. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t lie to him or to yourself.

God knows, he’s tried his best. He’s protected you every way he can, but his love is too soft.

When you hold his hand, he stiffens, when he watches you, it’s in secret, when he holds you, it’s with a touch that screams that he knows he doesn’t have you.

The door opens and you know it’s him, he knows you ache and that’s why he holds you. Tonight is no different. He aches too, but for someone he cannot look away from. For someone who was here before you, someone he felt every joy as you had with Alastor, but their end was not one from death, simply from needing to end. You know he feels guilty for using you to manage that ache, you know he feels guilty for projecting those things onto you in a way you can believe, but you cannot turn him away for managing to do what you couldn’t. 

There’s a red tint to the room as you fall asleep. Vox’s breath is soft but the world outside is loud. But when you pull the blanket over your head and close your eyes, you can pretend it’s Alastor’s arms around you.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> QUESTION TIME  
> Do y'all prefer longer, less frequent updates or this latest shorter but more frequent update thing I'm doing?   
> Let me know in the comments or over on Twitter or Tumblr!

A sharp static sound wakes you, and you snort. Vox always insists he doesn’t snore.  
After a moment, you realise it wasn’t him.  
The radio in the corner crinkles with sound until a voice comes over it.

“Dear listeners,” 

Gooseflesh rises on you, seemingly everywhere, and you can hear Vox’s subtle crinkle as he wakes behind you.

“Some cheeky little demon out there thought it would be fun to play a little prank involving a pie,” he chuckles; must be the guy from yesterday.

“I’m sure you got your laughs, my dear, but I do warn you to be on the lookout, no one in my years has humiliated me without consequence,” his voice drops, and the interference spikes, “and you won’t be any different.”

You stir, thighs pressed together at such a threat. It’s familiar but you know better than to hope.

“But I am not heartless!” he laughs, “I promise the rebuttal will be very entertaining. But for now, little demon, sleep with one eye open, keep a knife under your pillow, and remember the night is not kind.”

The radio shuts off, and you’re left with only the sound of Vox’s breathing.

“I’ll keep you safe,” there’s no hesitation in his voice, “I got you into this and the Radio Demon won’t touch you”.

You hum in response. Vox pressed to your back is distracting, and you can’t help but wonder how Alastor would deal with such a threat to your life.   
But you correct yourself; how can you move past that part of your existence if you constantly fall back to him? How can you let go of hope when you inject it into every thought you have?  
The door opens, and you hear Velvet instead of seeing her; whatever she says is a jumble of words but Vox stirs behind you and stands. You assume she’s calling him away while your eyes are fixed on the wall.  
You wrestle your thoughts, but you’re interrupted by Vox’s hand on your shoulder.

“I’ll be back soon, don’t...don’t go out. Get some more sleep, we won’t be gone long”

You nod, and he touches your cheek. It’s with a look of longing and guilt that he leaves the room, and you fall back against the pillow.   
It crosses your mind that you don’t mind if they take a little longer and guilt settles in your stomach. But sleep catches up with you, and you doze off as you hear the front door close.  
When you wake, there’s a pang in your stomach of pure fear.   
You cannot see anyone but you’re certain you’re not alone.  
You look to every corner, but you can’t look through the darkness. You’re silent as a corpse, desperate for some hint you’re wrong, but that feeling won’t leave.  
Vox mustn’t be back yet or he would have checked in on you.  
You sit up and look out the window. The crowds have thinned, Hell seems quiet for a moment, but in the glass, you see something, some shadow of a stag with ears too big and eyes you shouldn’t be able to see. You turn, but there’s nothing.

_ Must be my imagination. _

You throw the door open with too much force and stalk through the halls, checking your peripheral constantly for that shadow. You’re sure you see a flash of it sometimes, but there’s nothing when you look. The hairs on the back of your neck stand and you walk faster and your heart pounds and the door ahead of you opens and you jolt back, already on the defensive, and you let out a breath when Vox steps through the door.

“Going somewhere?”

“No, thought...nevermind, everything go okay?”

He eyes you suspiciously with a raised brow, but walks by you with a glance down the hall.

“Can’t complain. It was a quick trip, nothing too complicated,”

“I have to go out,” 

“I’ll come with you!”

“No,”

Vox looks visibly hurt at your refusal, but you need the space. It’s too full in here, too loud, too cramped. 

“I just want to get something for dinner, it will be fine, I can take care of myself,” you shoot him a look that’s far more confident than you feel, “I am the thing that makes the night unkind, Vox, no one who issues a threat over the radio is worth my worries.”

With that, you slip past him and out the door. 

The streets have emptied further, you can hear far off screams and you eye the alleyways as you walk by them for fear of that vision.  
With every step you take away from the apartment-from...home?- more concern rises in your stomach. It aches, and the words of that radio host stick with you. 

Was he really a threat?

You chuckle at the thought. Hell is simply a playground for you; you are the threat, the thing that people cower from, the boogeyman if it were such a thing here.   
How could a man who couldn’t avoid a pie to the face be any kind of threat?  
A soft pitter patter comes to life behind you, and you smirk. You know what this is.   
Vox had called children “ankle biters” in the past, and while this thing behind you isn’t a child by any means, it’s certainly going for your ankles.   
With a swift kick, you put it out of action.  
Another pitter patter comes to life, and another kick sends it back whence it came.  
This continues, another seven gremlins appear and disappear with your violence.  
But then one more appears, this time at the corner of an alleyway, and it skitters into the shadows.  
You have more sense than to follow it.  
You pass it with a confident stride, suddenly uncertain of where your feet are taking you, but you hold yourself high regardless.

Even when the sounds behind you turn from pitter patter to footfall.

You walk faster, plan your turns without any hint towards them, but the steps do not die, nor do they get closer.  
Your heart races, and you take an unplanned turn, certain it will lose him.  
But another left down that same dark alley and you’re met with a wall. 

_ No. _

_ Not again. _

You flex your hands, ready top turn and strike, but waiting until your stalker is close enough.

“Nowhere to run,” his voice is singsong.

Your back stiffens- the Radio Demon, of course.

“Don’t bother trying to escape, my dear, the walls are slick and high, your exit is blocked, and th-”

“Now, now, Al, don’t you think the dramatics are a little unnecessary?”

Vox’s voice breaks through the Radio Demon’s monologue. 

“Vox. I should have known you would be the type to encourage such a boring prank.”

“Hardly one worth spilling blood,”

“I’ve spilled it for less,”

You turn, to see the two glaring at each other as if they’re fighting over a toy.

“But you’d spill it over a pie?”

“I’d spill it for humiliation, Vox, you know that as well as I do,” there’s a twinge in the Radio Demon’s voice.

“My dear man,” Vox plants a hand on his red shoulder and the Radio Demon flinches, though only barely, “there is surely a better way to resolve such a situation than the murder of one of Hell’s finest gifts.”

They both cast a glance your way, though Vox’s turns back quicker.  
The Radio Demon stares, examines you as if he’s peering through your anatomy into the hidden corners of your soul.  
He steps towards you and leans forward, one hand behind his back and the other wrapped around a tall old-style microphone with a moving eyeball. His pupils turn to radio dials, the space around him distorts; shadows rise from his back, symbols snake from somewhere unknown, and colourful static glitches spot your vision. His voice comes but his mouth stays closed, and when he does speak, it’s with a low demonic growl behind his regular voice; 

“I’m sure you’ll make it up to me...little rabbit,”

With that he steps back, hands behind his back again, and he walks out of the alley with a clap of his hand on Vox’s shoulder. Whatever song he hums stays with you until long after he has disappeared from your vision. You can see Vox’s mouth moving, you’re certain he’s speaking, but you can’t hear anything but those two words.

“Little rabbit”


	8. Chapter 8

“Little Rabbit” 

The two words play over and over, and though that voice was interlaced with radio static, with those words, you can’t help but wonder if it was his voice underneath it.  
Vox has stayed silent for the most of the way back to the apartment, but you can hear the sounds inside his head flickering and begging to come out. You pray they don’t.   
Without a word, you go through the apartment, you ignore Velvet and Valentino, but behind your back, you know they’ve exchanged glances with Vox.  
You close the door before he can follow you and you sink to the ground.  
You leave out a long breath.  
That red demon is a stranger, but the familiarity sends ice through your veins.  
You dither for what feels like hours;  
If it is your Alastor, did he know who he was speaking to?  
If it’s not your Alastor, does he call everyone that or was it you specifically?  
How much does Vox know?  
Does he know?

  
You know he’s pacing outside the door, and you know he’s listening too.  
His pacing stops when you stand up, but you don’t open the door; you cross the room and sit on the bed.  
The door creaks open, and you see the screen of his face in the darkness.  
He stays silent.

“Vox, who was that?”

“The Radio Demon.”

“No,”

“His name is Alastor. I don’t know much about him. He arrived here, more powerful than any mortal soul that’s ever passed through. He spent his first months here tearing the place apart, he caused havok like I’ve never seen, baby doll. No Overlord has scared me, but he is terrifying.”

You snort quietly; sounds like your Alastor.

But what if it’s not?

The voice hides in the back of your mind, but it’s still loud. 

“So what if it isn’t?”

Vox stares at you, fear in his eyes but not the fear that plagued him with Alastor.  
So what if it isn’t your Alastor?  
Why wait any longer?  
Hell has been miserable, a long slog through countries worth of souls looking for your one, your only one. You know you can’t replace him. You’ve tried. If this Alastor isn’t your own, he can be the next best thing.  
Your heart aches for a moment.   
Vox should have been the next best thing.  
In an ideal Hell, you know you could have been the perfect accomplice. You could have ruled it with him, but with this ache in you, you can’t. The ache weighs you down, sorrow threatens to drown you every day.  
To die at the hands of this possible Alastor would be less painful than living another lifetime without your Alastor.

“I cannot protect you if you go to him,”

Vox’s voice is cold, but purposefully so.

“Alastor is not a demon I can face, he’s too powerful, and babydoll…” a flicker of the purest dread crosses his features, “if he chooses to kill you, I can’t stop him.”

You look away from him, the same dread in your belly, but it doesn’t seem quite as insurmountable. Maybe you just don’t care where it takes you.

“Does it really matter, Vox?”

He stands, faster than you’ve ever seen him move, he towers over you, glowers at you, and he grabs your wrist. You twist your arm but his grip is firm.

“You know it fucking matters,” that dread is gone from him, replaced now with hot rage, “you can’t just wander out and let a demon murder you because of your human life, your human life is gone, and whoever was in it is gone too.”

You wrench your hand back and it slips from his grasp, you hide how much it aches, you can still feel the indent of his fingers.

“That’s all the more reason,” you steel yourself, “I’ve spent...what I can only imagine to be decades looking for one person, I know he’s here in some way or other, but Vox,” the anger drains from your voice and you swallow a lump in your throat, “I was sure I’d find him, I knew it in my bones that we would come back together here, what other reason could there be? Why else would I have met him if the world was going to rip us apart before we were ready? The night I died, he was the last thought I had, and I’ve begged for some sign that he even found my body. An eternity down here, even sitting on the highest throne, it is worth nothing, it is worse than nothing, it’s torture without him. And I know,” his mouth opens but you keep speaking, “I know what...I know there were options. But it’s not happiness, Vox. It’s addiction and desperation and it’s breeding hurt like worms in us.”

His face drops into resigned acceptance.

“I just mistook the worms for caterpillars, babydoll,”

Losing what could have been is a different pain, one you smile through. You’d wished for caterpillars too, but worms are just worms, and they’ll eat you from the inside out.

*

Vox knows you won’t say a word, but for the sake of history, you lay beside him one last time. Neither of you sleep.

Shadows dance along the walls and his body is pressed to your back. There’s disgust in your stomach for what you’re doing to him, but the way he clings reminds you of everything. The possibility is worth the suffering you’ve both drowned in, and maybe this will inspire him to find his real butterflies.

Vox is taller than your Alastor ever was, he’s impossibly tall by human standards, but the way his hand twists into the stomach of your shirt makes him seem so small.  
It reminds you of your nights with Alastor. Nights where hunts went wrong, where slips and tumbles meant cleaning cuts and scrapes, where either of you could have been angry with the other. But the moment you slipped into bed, it was forgotten; every night, no matter how the day had been, he curled around you, nose behind your ear, arms around you, legs tangled with yours, and smile against your neck. Even if anatomy stopped Vox from doing the same, you know it’s what he wanted. You know what your leaving is doing to him. Vox has always been a little clingy, but he just seemed like a sweetheart with a crush. Now...well now he clings like  
a man about to lose the entire world, and you can't help but wonder if this is how he felt when he lost his world the first time.  
You wonder if this is worse because you knew about that hurt.

You turn to face him, and slot yourself against him with your head tucked under his chin. One of his hands splays on your back and soothes over one spot, over and over until the skin there tingles.  
"I..."  
All the things you want to say bundle together into some incomprehensible thought, one you can't even attempt to speak. You want to say you're sorry, you'll miss him, you don't regret a thing, you'll never forget him, a million more things. But your throat refuses and you can only leave the word in the air. But Vox nods.  
"I know. Me too."   
You can feel the ache in his heart because yours is the same. You hope one day his ache ends. And you hope tomorrow, yours will too.

*

You don’t say goodbye when you leave.  
You leave a note, something Vox can keep should he want to. You close the door, not certain he's asleep, and with your small bag of belongings over your shoulder, you make your way down the hall.

"You're leaving."

Valentino isn't asking, but you answer anyway.

"Yeah."

"How is he?"

"I don't know." 

"I won't ask you why you're going, frankly, I don't care. I only-"

"If you're pissed that I hurt him, you know I was second in the queue. Hold it against me if you want, but I am leaving. You can't stop me, but you can go in there and fix what _you've_ done."

Valentino stares you down, but you walk by without a word.   
When the door shuts behind you, you know you can't go back. But that click spurs you on. You glance at the red horizon, and wonder if when you find him, it'll be the last time you get to admire the sky here. Hell isn't perfect, but the sky is.

*

A tinkle of radio static draws you in on your stroll through the streets.   
Though it's the laughter that really catches you.

"Dear listeners," the hairs on the back of your neck stand, "radio hosts always hear the rumours before everyone else, and I have heard that there's a certain little rabbit roaming through Hell."

You pause and step to the side of the street to listen.

"Your prank may have CREAMED me a little, but I'm sure we can GLAZE over this," he laughs heartily then his voice becomes deadly serious again, "but if these rumours are true, simply return to where you were first cornered, I'm sure we can strike some kind of deal."

You glance at the alleyways, desperately trying to remember which turn you'd taken that night.

"But," his words ripple through you once more, and the menace in them chills you to the bone, "be careful, rabbit. The night is not kind."

That's all you need.  
You trust your gut to take you there, you twist through alleys with identicle wet bricks, and when you see that familiar red glow between the buildings, your heart leaps. A left turn and another and you're staring at the same wall you had before.

"Well, well, well," Alastor's footsteps are already behind you and there's a smile in his voice, but you don't turn, "you're very good at following instructions, though following instructions that bring you to death's door might not be the best use of your talent,"

"I have a proposition," You hear his head tilt, "a game of sorts."

"I'm listening."

"I know my prank was...a tad humiliating, but I'm going to ask a deal with this game. If I win, I get some forgiveness and the chance to walk away."

"That would be perhaps too generous, my dear,"

"If you win," you keep talking, "you do what you want, indulge any way you want."

You finally turn to look at him; his smile is as wide as ever but there's a look in his eyes, a spark.

"What is this game then?"

"A simple chase."

"I feel like you underestimate me, rabbit,"

"Not at all. Wouldn't that work in your favour?"

"A chase is only a good game if the prey can run fast enough,"

"You don't know that I can't. I got quite good at avoiding my hunters,"

A corner of his mouth twitches, and he takes a breath. 

"Run, little rabbit,"

And he starts to count.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're HERE!   
> Thank you for all the support and love for this story in the last few months, it has been an absolute joy. 
> 
> Enjoy the last chapter, and remember, the night isn't kind <3

You don’t know how much of a head start you have, but you know better than to stand around and wonder.    
The streets and alleys of Hell blur together when you run. You haven’t planned a route.  You twist through streets and alleys, a chill rising up your spine when you suspect he’s getting close, then you throw yourself around corners as if he can’t anticipate every move.  Shadows nip at your ankles, soft tickling nips but nips all the same. Another turn, and you’re on familiar streets.

“Sweet little rabbit, you thought you could get away so easily,” 

The static lilts in his voice, but the turn you take catches him by surprise. You dip under his arm and around his back, leaving him turning in a circle before you pound at the pavement again. He laughs, an absolutely joyous sound, and pursues once more. You note the head start; he must be having fun.  
You try to make random decisions but you spot your own pattern and correct yourself before he can spot it too. The alleys get thinner, more twisting, but you persist with your pulse thumping in your ears. Each moment you hear that soft static or the echo of a laugh from the walls, your heart picks up again, and you feel just like you did back then. 

Until you meet a roadblock.

A literal one.

Your head bounces against a chest and before you can see the owner, another form stands behind you. And you’re just a tiny piggy in the middle.

“Vox, I hope you know you’re interrupting our game,” you can see Alastor’s head tilt and his eyebrow raise in your imagination, but your eyes are fixed on Vox. He’s ignoring Alastor and staring down at you. 

“Babydoll,” he leans down, “babydoll, come home, we can fix this, this isn’t the right...he’s not…”

The handle of Alastor’s microphone plants diagonally across your front without warning.

“Vox, you’re interrupting both our game and our  _ deal _ . Please, I don’t want to do something you’ll regret, old friend,” Vox’s static acts up, threatening to attack Alastor in ways you’ve only heard rumours about, but before he can, you raise a hand. You feel Alastor stiffen beside you and you see Vox’s expression twist to one somewhere between hope and utter despair.

“Vox, go home. We made a deal. I have to follow through,” he tries to speak, you can feel the air behind you become something like a void, the radio interference tickles along your skin, raising the hairs on your arms, and Alastor leans forward, a clear threat in his stance.

“Your ‘ _ babydoll’  _ is my little rabbit, and I suggest you let  _ my _ rabbit run. Unless you want to see the walls painted with babydoll blood, that is,” Alastor’s grip on his microphone is tight enough that you see the bones of his hands through his gloves. You know your face hasn’t disguised your reaction to Alastor’s words, and Vox gives you another look.

Harsher this time.

And his words are just as blunt.

“Last chance,” 

You know he doesn’t mean just for this moment. 

There is no future if you don’t take this offer.

You duck under the microphone handle with a quick glance at Alastor; he knows what you’re doing. You take Vox’s hand. You squeeze and you examine the hope on his face.

“I’m sorry, Vox,” 

And you run. 

Alastor laughs in a way that echoes through the alleys, and you choke back a soft sob at Vox’s broken heart.   
But the sound of Alastor behind you captures your attention again, and there is no time to dwell on Vox’s heartache. 

“My dear,” a flash of red crosses in front of you, and you take another turn.

Alastor’s voice fades behind you, but emerges in a new spot, “I never took you for cruel.”

You turn away from it again, but Vox’s interference has left you rattled enough to forget your turns.  
And you end up walled in on three sides.

“It always ends like this, hmm?” 

Alastor’s voice comes over your shoulder and you walk forward until you’re close to the end of the line. 

“You’ve gotten better at avoiding your hunters, dear rabbit, but the night is never kind to a morsel like you,” you can feel the warmth of him behind you, and your heart skips. The microphone plants in front of you again, the tip of it lands on the ground between your legs and he angles it until it presses against your most sensitive spot, but you don’t make a sound.

“Hmm, perhaps,  _ this _ is more to your taste?”

The microphone disappears, replaced by a knife.

The same one.

“In all my years, alive or otherwise, I have never felt the yearning to kill someone the way I wanted to kill you. The idea of your blood along the walls that first night has haunted me since. Knowing you’ll run every time, even though you know you’ll be caught, always my insatiable little rabbit,” the blade presses to your throat and you gasp at how cold it is.

“I could do it now...I could paint you across these walls for that sorry excuse for an Overlord to find, wouldn’t that be some justice, hmm?”

He steps forward, pressed to your back until your cheek is against the wall. 

“Imagine his face, hmm?” the tip of the knife trails down your front, stopping just below your belly button, “I’d keep some for myself of course; I have to be a little greedy with my rabbit, don’t you think? I’m sure you wouldn’t mind letting me have just a little taste,” 

The sing song in his voice unnerves you but your back arches with the delight of it. 

“Oh you would love that, an insatiable little thing in every way, more ways than you ever really revealed to me,” his fingers trail where his knife had, but they drop lower until he presses between your legs and your knees knock together in surprise.

"Still so jumpy, even now.  This body seems much more durable,” the blade is by your neck again, “you were never  _ this _ accepting of my knife, well…” he trails off. 

“I was to one part of it,”

Your words are quiet but you catch his eyes turning to dials beside you, and you  _ know _ .

“You will always be my favourite prey, little rabbit,”

Alastor leaves your side, knife returning to microphone as he does, and he holds out a hand.

“I believe I have won, rabbit. Come,”

You take his hand, and as you follow him through the street.  You’re certain now that this is your Alastor.  
But you’re not so certain he knows it’s you.

*

Your walk through the Pentagram is a strange one; Alastor stands out, of course he does.  
But you see no one else.  
You’re sure there are demons around, but your focus is this, your Alastor beside you whether he knows it or not.  
He takes you into a building, but you don’t see it.

“Al, I- is that a customer?” a white haired woman looks at you, but you can’t truly respond.  _ Customer, where? _

“Hah, Vaggie, my dear, this is an old friend of mine, a room will be required,” 

“You’ve got friends?”

A white spider demon leans against the bar counter and the cat behind the counter snorts a laugh.

Alastor simply raises an eyebrow while the white haired girl, Vaggie, nods with a confused look on her face.  He strolls past her with a hum in his voice, and you give her a small smile of thanks. 

He takes you up countless stairs, but eventually, you’re strolling down a corridor with him. Up ahead, you see a door with antlers on it as a form of doorplate.

“Huh, just like home,”

Alastor stops dead in his tracks and turns.

“You couldn’t wait until we stepped inside…” From the wall, black tentacles that look like pure shadow reach, and they drag you until your back is against the wall and Alastor is before you, close enough for you to feel his breathing. They disappear too soon, and their grip on your neck is replaced by Alastor’s own hand.

“Little rabbit, I was certain that Hell had taken you from me too, that I would never find the only  sunshine I had in the world, and here you are, perfect as the day you left me. I never thought I’d live to taste you in the ways I did and still meet you again,” his kiss is possessive, desperate, one of pure yearning and a broken heart healed. You meet him with the same passion, you grip him in ways you thought you never would again, and the love you had missed so much comes flooding back.

“Al, I missed you so much, I’ve been looking for you for so long, I can’t...I don’t…” you trip over your words but he cradles your chin and you can only look up at him. 

“I found him,” Alastor speaks almost against your lips, and you can only listen, “I made him suffer for everything you’d gone through, for everything he  _ took _ from me,” he speaks through gritted teeth, “and when I got to Hell, I found him again, and, in every way I could manage, I tortured him all over again, and I made sure every circle of Hell could hear it.”

You holds his cheeks between your hands and pull him down to your level and kiss him with enough force and adoration to knock the wind out of him. He chuckles into your mouth, but twirls you as he does. And with a few steps, drags you through the door with the antlers.

*

The room is just like home.

Just like your home.

Down to small details you’d forgotten but here, you recognise them and you know you’re home.

“The room I requested from Vaggie will still be yours. It will be right next door, your own space,”

Your heart drops. Why didn’t he want you here? Had he found some other rabbit?

“The years have not changed what I feel for you, little rabbit, but in case they’ve changed what you want, your freedom is right next door,” 

“No.”

He tilts his head; his new permanent smile throws you off, but you can still read his face. He’s still your Alastor after all.

“I have spent what feels like millennia searching for you, Al, I refuse to be separated from you again,” 

If that smile can grow, it does.  He closes the small space between you, and grabs your chin too gently for the form he holds.

“I’m glad you see sense, dear rabbit,” he leans in close, close enough that you can feel the static from his nose against yours, “but the stench of your  _ infidelity _ is still on you, and we can’t have that now, can we?”

In these new sharp features, it is easy to see the feral traits that were once confined to his words and saved for the space behind closed doors. But now, he looks every inch the predator he’s always been. The knife reappears in his hand once more, and makes quick work of your clothes.

“Perfect, perhaps even more so in death,” the tip of the knife teases over the skin of your thigh, “and I am certain more durable. Perhaps one day we can test how far I can push that gorgeous little form,” your back meets the door and the knife meets your throat and you look up at the most menacing version of Alastor you’ve seen, “one day, I will bring you to the brink of every kind of oblivion and try to make sure you don’t fall,” he leans in close and plants a kiss too soft for such a demon on your lips, “though watching you fall could be the most perfect version yet…”

You reach for him, though it’s useless, and he presses the knife harder as a warning, “I’m not done speaking, did that vile thing not keep your manners in check, hmm?” 

You don’t respond.

“Better, I knew it wouldn’t take much to remind you, though,” there’s a tick in the corner of his smile, one of rage again, “there should be punishment for letting him touch you…”

“He didn’t.”

“Hmm? Then why is his scent on you, darling rabbit?” Alastor is closer now, and through gritted teeth and with a growl in his voice, he adds; “and don’t. Lie.”

“We shared a bed, but he has never touched me the way you did, you made that promise and I kept it for you,” 

“Then perhaps we don’t have to tear him limb from limb for invading my property. But we still need to be rid of that stench.  _ And we still need to remind you who you belong to,” _

Alastor is shorter than Vox but he dominates the room. You’ve never felt so small. Those tentacles from earlier sneak from the walls and hold your wrists in place. 

“I should hope  _ no one _ has touched my rabbit, not just that moronic contraption. Don’t bother answering, I’ll  _ know _ , my love,” another shadowy tentacle, soft as silk but slick all the same, laps your inner thigh from some space behind you, and without warning, creeps up between your legs and presses to your entrance. You writhe, partly from embarrassment, but mostly from sheer excitement.

“Be still, love,”

You obey.

“That’s it,” the tip of it snakes inside you, feels and examines in ways that don’t even feel real but make you shudder and gasp all the same, “aha, time hasn’t made you a liar, my dear.”

The pointed tip of his tongue trails up your neck and an involuntary moan slips from your throat.

“But it has made you so desperate,” he chuckles.  The tentacles disappear, but you don’t move to touch him,  “bed, my love,”

In the moment that you turn, there’s a flash behind you, and you know without looking, Al shares your state of undress. You wonder how he’s changed, but the first look at him when you turn around takes your breath away for all the wrong reasons.

You’d learned long ago that the scars of your human life remained on your demon body, including the marks that your murderer left.

You’d forgotten to ask how he died,  but the marks of teeth are enough to tell you.

“A hunt went rather wrong on me, I got in the way of some  _ other  _ hunters who mistook me for prey. Their dogs got the better of me,” you trace the marks on his arms with a finger tip, and he traces the one that marks your chest in the same moment.

“I was...grateful I didn’t have to live too long without you,” his words are quiet.

“When did you know I was gone?”

“The night it happened. I knew in my gut that something was wrong. And then I found you,” he winces at the memory, “you were...you should never have been treated like that. You deserved a better death, my love.”

You hear his unspoken words.

“The one you could have given me,” 

He chuckles again, “I never planned to kill you, not after that first night, but to have a hand in your end...I would have made it perfect.”

“I know,” he leans down as you speak until his hands are at either side of your thighs and your foreheads are pressed together, “I never knew who killed me, a little part of me always hoped it had been you, but it lacked the intimacy you would have left me with.”

You sneak a kiss, and he smiles against your lips; “You know me so well,”

“Because you’re as much mine as I am yours,”

“Death has made you brave, little rabbit,”

“I had time to think on it,”

“And you came up with some fine words,” he bites your bottom lip gently, but those sharp teeth are enough to draw a drop of blood, a drop he eagerly laps up.

Your back hits the bed softly and Alastor hovers over you. With another kiss, he slips into you, and the new shape of him brings another noise from you.

“My dear, you’ve  _ changed _ , inside you now is something new entirely,” he pants against your neck for a moment.

“I can say the same for you, love,” he captures your lips before you can continue, and the blade of his knife presses to your neck. 

“I can feel you squeeze when my knife touches you, little rabbit, you  _ missed _ this, hmm? You missed feeling like I could take everything from you with the flick of a wrist?”

The slap of his hips against yours makes the knife move in small bumps against your flesh, and you forcibly stop yourself from nodding your response.

“That knife handle kept your scent, my love, I enjoyed that part of you in your absence, but the real thing,” he breathes deep and a sliver of drool slips through his teeth, “it smells  _ delicious _ .”

His new shape presses against you in ways you never expected, stirs feelings from you that you never imagined, sensations you could only dream of, and it brings you to the edge far too quickly. But he stops, pulls himself from you, and smiles down with an unbearably cheeky grin.

“Do you think I would let you go without your favourite  _ toy?” _

He leans back on his heels and watches as the knife handle slips into you and you moan at the familiarity.  
But this demon body can take the punishing pace he sets, and you’re shameless in your enjoyment of it. You push yourself up somewhat awkwardly to watch it too, and you don’t shy away when your climax hits. Though when Alastor takes the handle from you and licks it clean, you do feel your cheeks redden.

“Like Ambrosia, my love,” his tongue is much longer now, and you note to ask him to make use of it in the future. 

But for now, he slips into you again, and fills you with a groan. 

The new bumps and ridges tease sensitive spots inside you, and each thrust feels so brand new. His brow creases, smile still full, a growl in his throat, those dials flickering into his pupils again, and in a heartbeat, his teeth sink into the curve of your shoulder, deep enough that you feel them hit bone somewhere. You hear a growl from yourself, but when the chuckle in his throat digs his teeth a little further in, your nails find his back and rake the skin there.  He releases your shoulder but clamps down again closer to your neck, hard enough to rip through veins and arteries, hard enough to kill you if you were still human.   
But instead, it stirs you, rattles pleasure through you, and makes you squeal his name. The row of bites mark your shoulders, your chest, your throat, blood oozes from each one, you can feel it smear across your skin with every kiss and lick from Alastor, until growls and groans ripple from his throat as he paints your insides.   
It's enough to send a small climax through you, and you cling to him again. The scratch marks blend in with each of his scars. 

"My little rabbit, your throat…" he chuckles, and a mirror forms in his hand. Through the smears, dots of blood form constellations of scarlet stars across every part of you that you can see, "it's impossible not to admire you, my lovely thing."

You try to clean the blood, but Alastor scoops you into his arms, wraps you with him under the blanket. You try to tell him you'll stain the bed with all this blood, but he kisses your forehead and you forget your argument. He holds you, the way you've craved every night, you let out a long sigh, one of pure relief. 

When morning comes, your limbs are utterly tangled, but you're rested for the first time since you arrived and your heart feels full at last. 

"I could get used to this,"

"As you should. Until eternity ends, I won't wake another day without you." 

You smile, and you kiss his lips too softly. The ache in your neck and shoulders is a blessing. 

And it's just the same every morning after.

"Good morning, Alastor."

"Good morning, little rabbit"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my work! For updates, giveaway info, and general thought process, join me!  
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/CalsLaundry  
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